


Sinners in the City

by kali_asleep



Series: Summer Heat [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, First Time, Innuendo, NSFW, Roof Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, sin - Freeform, yes you read that correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/pseuds/kali_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conclusion to Summer in the City.</p>
<p>It's exactly what you think it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinners in the City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whiggity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiggity/gifts), [LynnLarsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/gifts), [BullySquadess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullySquadess/gifts).



> You can blame [whiggity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiggity/pseuds/Whiggity) and [lynnlarsh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh) for this.

When Adrien had fantasized about his head between Ladybug’s thighs, he hadn't quite pictured it like this. For one thing, he’d imagined himself facing the other direction. 

“Okay, heave-ho.”

Adrien rises up onto his tiptoes.

Even outside of the suit, Marinette is incredibly athletic. How Adrien had missed the definition of the muscles in her arms and legs, he doesn't know. When he had first come to school, he’d quickly learned of Marinette's notorious clumsiness, but had that carried through to lycée? He had been too wrapped up in Ladybug to notice, an obvious irony now. With what Adrien knows now, it shouldn't be a surprise to watch how effortlessly Marinette pulls herself up from his back and slides onto the fire escape above. His entire body throbs to be so suddenly lacking in Marinette and her thighs.

The retracting ladder of the fire escape hits the ground in front of him with a clatter. Marinette's head peeks over the side; she’s grinning at him.

“Let’s go, slow poke.”

He grabs the bottom rung of the ladder and hauls himself up.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Adrien whines.

Marinette, already starting to climb to the next level, casts an all-too-casual glance over her shoulder and says, “Not yet you aren't.”

The expletive that slips from his mouth as he nearly loses his grip on the ladder is identical to what he’d like to do to her. Marinette’s giggle injects fire straight into his bloodstream.

She must choose to take pity on him, and the rest of the climb up is quiet. Or maybe it has something to do with the numerous dark windows they pass, sleeping Parisians still undisturbed. Either way, Adrien is thankful. This is not the day or way he wants to die. 

The roof is spacious and clear of much clutter or debris. A clothesline is strung not too far from the door to the building’s inside, and a few linens flap in the nighttime summer breeze. The moment he is clear of the fire escape, Adrien catches Marinette in his arms from behind and holds her tightly to his chest. He hasn’t forgotten why they practically scaled the side of a building, nor has the reason why Marinette looks at him so hungrily fled his mind. Her little breathy laugh sounds like it’s trying hard not to turn into a moan as he presses his erection into her backside.

“Oh my god, Chat,” she says. After her comment on the fire escape, Adrien can't help but feel smug to hear her sound so wrecked now. He dips his head down until he reaches the junction of her neck and collarbone, and bites. With Marinette pressed close, Adrien can feel the shiver that rolls down her. He soothes the mark he leaves there with his tongue, pausing long enough to whisper a euphoric, “No suit in the way.”

Marinette hums in pleased agreement and tries to capture his lips with hers, but he ducks away and switches sides before she can react. She snorts and takes her revenge a moment later, reaching behind her back to place her open palm on the front of his jeans. Adrien cants into her touch, succumbing to instinct. Her eyes flutter shut. 

“Suits never kept us from doing this,” Marinette says. Her hand presses more firmly down and he lets out a hiss of pleasure.

“S-still fewer layers,” Adrien says, “I, ah, I t-think I like this way a lot better.”

One of his hands roams up from her hip and cups her breast. His thumb traces gentle circles along the thin material of her top, and he feels a little faint with the realization that Marinette wears no bra under her crop top. Adrien’s glad he hadn't noticed the obvious fact (there is  _ nowhere _ under that patch of fabric that she could have hidden one) while they were still in the club - he couldn't have guaranteed himself or the cleanliness of the club bathrooms. A clear advantage to not being in their suits, Adrien can feel when Marinette’s nipple hardens under his touch. He lets his fingers stray to the inside edge of her shirt and run up and down, ghosting over the skin of her breast. 

They move in tandem, in tune with the other’s intent. Marinette walks him backwards, steering him towards the clothesline. Adrien snatches one of the sheets off of it and detaches himself from Marinette’s lips long enough to lay it out on the ground next to them. Her hands cup his cheeks; she sinks down to her knees and he follows - he’d never stop following. Bracketing him with her legs, Marinette deepens their kiss once more, tongue lapping his in broad strokes. It takes no prompting for Adrien to hoist her by the hips into his lap. He can feel the heat of her through their jeans, and it’s suddenly quite urgent that they eliminate those layers, immediately. Marinette rolls her hips down on his and that thought - along with any other cogent sense - is drowned out by a moan that must be his. She kisses it all the way back to his throat. 

His thoughts must be hers. Marinette’s hands slide down his sides and hit the hem of his shirt. She breaks their kiss. The way she looks at him muffles his protest: thoroughly debauched and utterly uncertain. She asks permission with her wide eyes and not her parted lips, with the fingers that skim an inch above the top of his jeans. 

The right words don't exist for what it means to plummet off the cusp of one’s heart, arms outstretched, and know in the deepest center of their core, that they trust another to catch them. To say, ‘How could you doubt it?’ or ‘You don't have to ask,’ is far from enough. So Adrien nods and covers her hands in his. Carefully, his fingers guide hers along the waist of his pants and stop at the button. The cold of the metal comes as a shock - Adrien was sure he’d turned to fire hours ago.

It must startle her too. Marinette freezes and stares at him, eyes searching his face. So he leans back, giving her more room, giving her another confirmation. 

She fumbles with the button, and her mouth screws up in a pout as it takes longer and longer for her to tease the top of his jeans open. It’s mounting suspense and nerves and impatience and then it’s  _ done _ , and Adrien’s heart taps out a marathon as Marinette  _ slowly _ guides his zipper down. 

It’s like the spark has finally made it’s long, slow burn to the dynamite: they smoke, and then explode. 

Marinette slides off of his lap and he shucks his jeans in an instant. He’d be embarrassed at how one leg catches on his foot, forcing him to awkwardly kick it off, but he’s too caught up in kneeling back down and running his hands up her back. He doesn't hesitate at the bottom of her shirt - Adrien’s touch slides all the way up, uninterrupted, and her shirt rucks up with it. She lifts her arms and helps him clear the obstructive bit of red and polka dots.

All of that skin seems to shine silver in the moonlight. Her cheeks darken but she does not cover herself, even as she watches his jaw drop and feels his hands chart a course to her front. Adrien takes her smile as an invitation to once again cup her breast and run a thumb over the swelling flesh. She bucks when he gives her nipple a firm pinch. Marinette’s lips part in a surprised ‘o’ and her hands fly to his thighs. She acts before he can, and her name falls out from his mouth in a jumbled mess when her nails dig into that soft inner skin. 

It becomes a game of who can push the other further, faster. Adrien massages her bare breast with one hand while the other mimics her and begins creeping along her thigh. Meanwhile, her hands roam everywhere but the one place he desperately needs her: she pushes under his boxer briefs to run a thumb across the crease of groin and leg; taunts him again with her nails along his thighs; she even plucks at the elastic of his waistband and dips in. Her fingers slide down and past his urgent hardness but do not touch. His hold on her falters. Marinette giggles at his frustrated moan.

Uncomfortably tucked underneath him, Adrien’s legs are starting to tingle, and the two of them are too far apart, and Marinette seems  _ far  _ too composed. That needs to change. He tugs his shirt off and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

“Holy hell,” Marinette breathes. It’s a nice change of pace, hearing her breath hitch when her lust-darkened eyes race over his well-defined abs and chest.

“There are benefits to being Chat Noir.”

She’s too preoccupied to snark back at him, and it’s exactly the opening Adrien is looking for. His arms snake around her waist and he leans her back with him. The hard jolt when his back hits the ground is worth the way Marinette’s hands fly to his chest to keep herself from collapsing onto him. Her legs slot between his, a perfect fit, but he hauls her up until she’s close enough for him to lick a stripe from the underside of her breast, up. Marinette makes it easy to multitask; all at once, Adrien takes her nipple between his teeth, buries his hands into her ass, and thrusts up against her.

There are benefits to being Chat Noir, and right now it’s the way Marinette squirms on top of him and lets out a heady, undone whine. Even through their remaining layers, the pressure when she straddles him and rubs against his erection is dizzying. His mouth parts from one breast with a wet pop and finds the other. Adrien lavishes his attention on all of the places he’s never has access to before, using teeth and tongue to explore up and down her chest and collarbone. Marinette darts in with kisses when she can, but much of her focus is wrecked each time his hips roll up.

“H-hold on,” Marinette rasps. Her body stills and so does his. Propping himself up on his elbows, Adrien feels his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? We, we can stop if-” 

She sucks in a hard breath and shakes her head. “No, no no no,” she says between each panting breath, “I just-  _ you are- _ and I thought I wanted you when you were  _ in the suit. _ ”

Her weight shifts, and a moment later she’s wiggling her jeans off. Eager to help, Adrien hooks his thumbs in her belt loops like he’d been aching to do all night and tugs down. With the way Marinette’s positioned on top of him, it’s impossible to pull them off; Adrien has to bite back his complaint when she rolls off of him and continues her task. It’s for the greater good. 

The sight of her kicks the air from his lungs. 

He’s seen her legs before - hell, he has them to thank for finally getting Ladybug out of her suit. But her legs keep going, no polka dots or pink shorts in the way, and when they stop, there’s-

“You were hoping we would end up together tonight.”

Between the vee of her legs waits a black scrap of cloth with a bright green paw print printed in the center. The flush that runs from Marinette’s chest to her cheeks confirms what the cheeky thong is telling him. Adrien didn't think it was possible for more blood to rush to his aching cock, but the implication of her wardrobe choices proves him wrong. 

He flips over onto his hands and knees and crawls the short distance over to her, swiping her abandoned jeans out of the way. 

“Everything that happened tonight,” he continues, framing her body with his, “All part of My Lady’s plan.”

She reaches up to loop her arms around his neck, but Adrien resists when she tries to pull him down. The hungry look in her eyes sharpens with the challenge. Marinette threads her fingers through her hair and yanks until their mouths meet, but she’s unable to bring him down on top of her. He thrusts his tongue back and forth into her mouth and watches as her blue eyes flutter closed with each stroke. The thought of what he wants to do, what they  _ will  _ do, is tempered only by his desire to draw this out. Adrien has been waiting for too long to rush it now. The knowledge that Ladybug is Marinette, that he can can see her tomorrow, and the next day - whenever he wants - simultaneously lights a flame low in his gut and keeps him from shoving aside her underwear and immediately burying himself in her.

“Cat’s out of the bag, I guess,” Marinette says when they part for air, “Though I  _ did _ warn you the last time we were on a roof together.”

Adrien lets out a huff of laughter. Stretched out beneath him is a view he could take in forever. Marinette arches her back, accentuating the pert handfuls of her breasts and the lines of her muscular torso. Her smile is coy, composed, but the gasping breaths she takes give her away. He'd like to keep her gasping.

Holding himself up on one arm is a simple enough task - Adrien has been flinging himself across the Paris skyline for years. No, the difficult part is deciding where to tease her first. With a single finger he traces down each rosy spot that has already received his attentions - lips, collar, shoulder, breasts - then slowly moves further down to seek out untouched skin. Marinette’s breath hitches when his finger snags one narrow side of her thong. He tugs it down an inch or so, but not enough to remove the garment. It exposes just enough of what he wants. Adrien slides down.

Raking his teeth just below her hip, Adrien is close enough to discover a new sign of Marinette’s want. Every plan to leave another mark vanishes with the sight of the spot darkening the fabric of her underwear. Marinette’s protest over his stilling lips is cut off when Adrien shifts just enough to splay his hand over her other thigh and lightly press his thumb between her legs. The black fabric is warm and wet. 

Emboldened, he circles his thumb around the spot, gauging every jolt of her hips and twitch of her thighs. A sharp moan flees her lips when he finds her point of pleasure through the cloth. His touch grows heavier, rubbing directly at her clit. 

It seems like magic: Adrien touches her and Marinette lets loose a high, vocal mew. Each little sound spurs him on, and he presses harder, rubs faster. He’s caught upside the head by a knee when she can't seem to control the spasming on her legs, but it doesn’t matter when all Adrien wants is to see her undone. 

“Too much- too much,” she says. Suddenly, Marinette squirms, heels digging into the sheet to try to propel herself from him. His hands fly up and his heart gives one heavy thud of panic.

“What did I- I’m so sorry, I-” Adrien fumbles as he retreats from her legs. 

The flush that had been creeping up her neck now electrifies her entire body. Marinette’s eyes have closed, and she gulps in air like she hasn't taken a breath in days. She raises a shaking hand. 

“Stop,” Marinette commands. The force of Ladybug - albeit a very breathless one - backs up her words. It halts another run of apologies. “You were pressing a bit too hard,” she continues, “Everything gets really sensitive and- and so it was just too much stimulation.”

Adrien blinks and opens his mouth with another apology, but she’s not done.

“Next time you can be gentler, but for now-”

Flatlined at ‘next time’, Adrien’s brain takes a few seconds to catch up with his body, which is currently sliding up Marinette’s to meet her beckoning hand. She cups his cheek and places a finger on his bottom lip.  _ Next time,  _ Adrien repeats to himself. The mantra reverberates in his skull as he parts his lips and lets her back in.  _ Next time _ seems to keep beat with the plunging and swirling of their tongues.

He feels her slender hand move down his back, feels it slip over his waist and pause to establish a firm grip on his ass. But then it trails to his front side.

Adrien can keep it together, he can. Ladybug has touched him through his suit plenty of times and this is no different, even though it’s also Marinette and they’re down to their underwear and they've been practically tongue-fucking for the past few minutes. He is  _ totally  _ in control.

Marinette pushes his underwear down. His cock, thick with want, finally comes free. Slowly, Marinette wraps her small hand around him. With wide eyes she watches him watch her, and gives him one pump. The reaction is instantaneous: every nerve floods with hot pleasure and he loses a string of incoherent syllables in the process. If anything, Marinette looks surprised by his response, but she moves her hand up and down, easing into a few more strokes. The entire world narrows down to a single place on his body; there is nothing but her warm skin pulling and stroking him. His hips raise involuntarily, wanting more. He is  _ not _ in control.

The friction of skin on skin is overwhelmed by the fire that twists low in his belly. That fire flares when her hand stops at the end of his shaft so that she can spread the beading precum along his thick head. He’s so sensitive and so turned on that even the simple action makes him moan. Just like that, Marinette goes back to pumping her hand along him.

“Mari, I'm going to come like this if you keep it up,” he whines. Adrien can already feel his body tensing. Desire builds, pulsing deep in him. Any second, he’d burst.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Marinette teases.

“Not like that, not tonight.”

She gives him one final, firm stroke and then lets go. But the absence of Marinette’s touch hits him with almost as much intensity as its presence. A heartbeat after she releases him, Adrien angles his body back over hers. Needing contact, needing  _ her _ , he lowers his body until every inch of his lines up with hers. The way her hips buck and her lips part when he grinds his hardness against her core makes him shiver, makes him press harder. He’s never seen Marinette, Ladybug, so completely lost of control, so reactive, and it is a whole new degree of arousing.

It’s no longer enough to rub against one another. Adrien needs more than Marinette’s lips at her throat, needs more than the sensation of his erection up against that black thong, now fully soaked through.

She is only inches away when he asks. There’s little light on the roof, but that doesn't keep Adrien from seeing a blue in her eyes so perfectly suited for the rose blush of her cheeks. Freckles fan out across her nose and cheeks, and he thinks the shy glance away from him before she looks back and resolutely says “Yes,” might be burned into his mind forever.

Adrien slips the thong halfway down her thighs. Heart beating an unsteady foxtrot, he raises himself up enough to allow Marinette to wiggle the rest of the way out of her underwear.

And then it is just them.

There is a decided stillness. Marinette stares up at him, expression more nervous than he’s seen on her in ages. Adrien is certain his face reads the same way.

“Are you sure, Buginette?”

“Of course, Chaton.”

Reaching up, Marinette plants both hands on his face and covers his lips in a tender kiss. When they part, a small smile crosses her face. 

She hooks one leg over his. Open for him, Marinette radiates a warmth he needs to immerse himself in. Their hips meet again. The patch of hair between her legs is slick with her want, and her soft flesh parts as she shifts. The invitation is irresistible, but the second before he sinks in a pinch of sense hits him. He freezes. His entire body strains in protest. Marinette notices and looks up at him, blinking owlishly.

“Marinette,  _ shit _ , I don’t have any protection.”

Of course he wouldn’t - Adrien had been very set against even thinking about having sex with the pretty girl who wasn’t his not-girlfriend… until it turned out that Marinette was, in fact, his sort of not-girlfiend. Groaning, Adrien lets himself collapse on top of her. All of the frustration built between his legs isn’t helped by being even  _ closer _ to her, but he can’t stop himself. 

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, “I wasn’t exactly planning on my night going this well and now I just-” Adrien bites off his words and replaces them with another vexed groan. He was  _ this  _ close, they were almost-

“Adrien, relax and just hang on a second,” Marinette says.

She starts to sit up, pushing his weight off of her. Twisting, Marinette stretches to reach back behind her and paw for her abandoned jacket. Once she gets a hold on them, she drags it over and starts digging through the pockets. 

Like a magician, Marinette procures a handful of condoms. She wields them with a flourish, and he can't stop the look of surprise that shapes his face. Suddenly Marinette is backtracking, tripping over her words with a “W-we don’t have to, you’re nice, this is good even without- we could-”

Adrien shakes his head and laughs. How like his Ladybug, thinking a plan through to the end. As if the underwear hadn't been enough of a giveaway. He takes her free hand in his and studies the variety of colored, foil squares in her other.

“Why the different sizes?”

From the darkening of her cheeks, he knows he's hit on something. Adrien can't make out the words the first time she mumbles her answer.

“What was that, My Lady?”

“Tikki told me the regular ones probably wouldn't fit,” Marinette whispers, “And that I should get bigger ones. But I already bought the regular ones. So I just. Brought both.” Her voice gets higher with each halting sentence, and she’s not meeting his eyes anymore. “I guess I didn't think Tikki knew what she was talking about, she’s like tiny. And not human. I mean, and it was hard to tell in the suit? And what if it was padded?”

Marinette’s flustered rambling is cute enough to quell any hurt pride over the ‘padded’ comment, but the mention of his partner's kwami raises a red flag.

“How on  _ earth _ would  _ Tikki _ know anything about that?” he says, mortified.

“She and Plagg talk,” Marinette says in an equally abashed whisper, “Apparently quite a bit.”

Looking back, Adrien would find the moment comic, something he and Marinette would laugh over frequently. But right now half of his words get caught in his throat - the other half come out as garbled, embarrassed whines. His jaw drops and snaps shut more than once as the words do doughnuts in his head.

“Plagg knew,” he says. It isn't a question. “Plagg  _ knew _ .” This time it is a growl. “He knew this whole time, and just let me-  _ ugh _ !”

Marinette nods along, sympathetic to his frustration and follows up with a quiet, “I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen. Tikki was around that whole time, and I know I said I wanted to keep my identity a secret, but if I hadn't been so stubborn…”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and exhales sharply. With a shake of her head, Marinette works a smile back up on her face.

“This is  _ not _ how I pictured my first time going,” she says. Adrien leans back the best he can, given his position, and tries to keep the panic from his expression.

“Not with me?”

The roll of her eyes is all Ladybug, but her giggle is pure Marinette - both wrap a tight grip around his heart.

“Not on a random  _ roof _ in the middle of the  _ night _ , you goof. It’s always been you.  _ Always _ .”

The meaning isn’t lost on him - how many years, again? - and it fills him with a warmth not quite like fire to hear Marinette's confession. Awed, Adrien gives her a soft kiss, and then another. Like that, the anxiety, the kwamis, the irony of it all, slips away. All that’s left in it’s place is her.

"I never thought I would be allowed to have this, to be with you.” His lips brush hers with each word. “I’d relegated you to the realm of fantasy and then all of a sudden you are very  _ here _ and very  _ real _ and now… you’re mine?”

“I’m yours,” Marinette affirms.

It’s with more nerves than ceremony that Adrien rolls on the condom that Marinette (red-faced, not-quite-looking-at-him) hands him. Breath growing heavy, Adrien eases down on his elbows. The sheet below them does little to soften the rough roof beneath them, and not even Marinette’s unsheltered look of want quite erases the discomfort that stings in his knees. This is it.

Adrien lifts his hips and angles himself between her parted thighs. He dips in, pressing the head of his shaft against her opening. Hot, welcoming, Marinette’s body forces Adrien’s to respond: his hips stutter forward to thrust himself into her, only to miss the target. He slips, misses, and recenters his hips to try again, with the same results. With a huff, Adrien glances away. Over a year had been spent dreaming about this moment; it should *not* be this difficult.

Wiggling a little, Marinette manages to fit her hand between them. Her fingers encircle his girth again, this time to guide him to her. She raises her hips a bit more and spreads her legs further.

He enters her slowly, feeling the slick stretch of her accomodate him. For a moment, Adrien forgets to breathe, or even move. The tiny whimper from below snaps him back to attention. Marinette’s lips form a soft circle, and her gaze slides out of focus as he enters her to the hilt. Adrien reels with the sensation of her heat taking him in, to the point that he almost cannot work his lips around the word, “Okay?”

The hum of affirmation is the only thing Marinette seems able to pull from her heaving chest. Beneath him, she circles her hips and draws a moan from him. It’s all Adrien needs. His legs tense and his hips snap back and he withdraws, only to sink back into her in the next heartbeat. The writhing pressure in his gut is back in full force; it rises as he thrusts into her once, twice, three times. And it’s not just him - Marinette moves underneath him, either trying to match his rhythm or catch her own, he can’t tell. It doesn’t matter because it feels *incredible* deep inside her. It’s the first flush of Miraculous power over his body times one thousand, more freeing than mask or magic because it is  _ her _ and  _ him _ and  _ them. _

The distant thought that Marinette is clawing at his back is muffled by her rising, breathy moans. She fills her ears, and his eyes, and his pounding heart, and he fills her with everything he can. It won’t be long now. The pang in his belly grows and seems to light him from within; his skin feels disjointed from the rest of him, a woozy heat rising just beneath it as he continues to drive into her. Marinette’s moans hitch noisily and he speeds up, relishing as she clenches around her hardness. Low murmurs of praise and babbling want hit his ears - when Adrien’s lips began to move, he isn’t certain, but Marinette responds in kind, eyes fluttering shut and head nodding along before “ _ Yes _ ” and a strained “ _ Please _ ” fall from her.

Of course it would be her voice that puts him over the edge: until a couple of months ago, it was all Adrien had of Ladybug, the only thing he could tuck deep in his chest and take home with him. His thrusts turn erratic as desire takes over his body.

“Oh  _ Minou _ ,” Marinette gasps, “A-Adrien…”

Freefall from the Eiffel Tower has nothing on this. He shudders from toe to temple with the aching force of release; his heart thuds so forcefully that it might burst from his chest with the rest of him. Adrien’s world shakes into whiteness for a few long seconds as he comes.

When Adrien reenters orbit, it’s with the sky of Marinette’s eyes below him. She looks somewhere between dazed and hungry, and she pulls him by the forearm down to kiss her. His lips move of their own accord, but it gives him enough time to catch his breath through the aftershocks.

“Did you-?” Marinette asks.

“Holy -  _ yes _ .”

The pleasure that lights up her face is of a different breed than what he’s seen most of the evening, and its softness raises a heat high in his chest. It feels a lot like a word he’d written once on a crumpled card, a word taken from him at the wrong moment - or perhaps a word Adrien wasn’t really ready to give. Maybe it’s the haze of adrenaline and lust, but he feels much more ready now.

“Did you?” he asks instead. He noses up her cheek and leaves featherlight kisses on each brow.

“Ah, no, I mean I don’t think so, but it was really good so you don’t have to…” Marinette trails off. It’s clear by the way her body squirms, impatient, under his that what she wants and what she’s saying don’t line up. Really, this is no time for her to be so  _ considerate. _

And it’s not like he isn’t hardening again above her, it’s not like Marinette isn’t a wildfire in his blood that smolders and catches fire with even the slightest breeze.

“No way, not going to happen,” Adrien says, “Not after Ladybug, Hero of Paris, spent the better part of an evening stringing out an elaborate plan to get laid.”

“I  _ got _ laid,” Marinette says, chuckling. She plants giddy kisses wherever she can reach him, and he indulges for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“But what kind of sidekick would I be if My Lady didn’t get everything she wanted in the end?”

“You’re not-”

He lifts up off of her, disposes of the condom, and rests a hand on her hip. It’s no effort, after years of training, to flip their positions and tug Marinette onto him. The relief of being off of his knees is a considerable one, though the bits of gravel and concrete that press through the sheet can’t have made Marinette’s time on her back that much more comfortable. Once she’s recovered from the sudden shift, Marinette looks down at his swelling erection appraisingly.

“You want to go again?” she asks. It’s not a challenge, her voice genuinely curious.

“Until you’re satisfied, Princess. And maybe then some.”

Marinette bends down until they are chest to chest, and brings her soft lips to the raw skin just below his ear.

“How could I not be satisfied? I’ve got you.”

She works his neck and jaw with feeling - biting, sucking, leaving a trail of marks that will no doubt show tomorrow. Her hips begin a slow grind against him, quickening the flow of blood back between his legs. Still wet, still hot, Marinette still wants him, and it’s only takes another minute or two before he’s unwrapping another condom.

Marinette’s thighs quiver as she lifts up and sinks down onto him. It’s not from the exertion - she has legs of steel - so the fact that she looks so ruined from his presence, from the pulse of him inside of her, hits him with the force of a fist.

There’s less hesitation this time around, and as soon as Marinette is seated on him she begins to  _ move _ . So close after his last orgasm, the sensitivity is deliciously overwhelming; he lets her ride him, hands on his chest, as he tries to remember how his lungs work.

Her core is tight around him. Positioned as they are, he can feel himself diving even deeper into her than before. She starts out slow, drawing herself up and down, him in and out. Between every couple of thrusts Marinette raises up enough for all of him but the tip of his shaft to pull out. The friction from when she pierces herself on just the last inch or so of him is meant to tease; they let out simultaneous shouts when Marinette plunges back down on him, filling herself completely.

From there, their pace quickens. Adrien lifts his hips, moving up as she crashes down, letting every yelp and moan spur him on. She’s gotten more vocal since they started, like she can’t keep the sounds hidden inside her anymore. Hands shifting from his chest to his shoulders, Marinette’s nails dig in and she grinds hard on his cock, pleasuring some spot deep within. In turn, he grabs her ass and thrusts up. He does everything he can to get her closer, to get himself further in her, and from the way her hands scrabble over his skin, from the way she flings her head back, Adrien appears to be succeeding.

Her back goes straight and her hands curl into fists. Each thrust onto him gets faster, less controlled, until she’s practically pounding into him. He feels mounting lust between his legs as she groans and gasps and begs, but he holds himself steady, letting her control the pace. If he came again before she did, Adrien might never forgive himself, assuming he didn’t die of shame first.

Adrien feels her pleasure ripple around him. There’s no more tempo to her motions, just pure need, a beat of its own as her hips snap and grind. When Marinette comes, it seems a miracle all of Paris doesn’t wake around them.

It’s such a potent sound that it takes only a couple more pumps. He tightens his grip on her hips and jerks into her. His orgasm crashes over him once more.

When his vision clears, there is Marinette. From this angle, Adrien can see the tone lines of her torso and the perfect hills of her breast. He can see the curve of her neck and the barest glimpse of her lips. Her head is tossed back and she gasps for air.

A moment later, she slips into a boneless heap, piled on his chest. Still inside of her, Adrien feels another light tensing of her muscles, and shivers with the stimulation. He leaves gentle kisses on the crown of her head and runs his fingers through her mussed hair as she lays on his chest and simply breathes.

How much time passes, Adrien can’t be sure. Enough for the sweat to cool between them, pleasant if not somewhat tacky. Enough for his heart to regain some semblance of regularity, though not by much. When Marinette finally props herself back up and stares at him, it’s like time may as well have just given up altogether.

"That was incredible,” she breathes, “I mean, not to sound cliche but that was  _ amazing _ .”

He grins, feeling electrified.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Adrien says, “Would you say it was, perhaps,  _ clawsitively _ awesome?”

It’s the first groan out of Marinette’s mouth that hasn’t been in pleasure. She slaps a hand to her forehead.

“Look  _ Chaton _ , here I am trying to be romantic or whatever and you’re just-  _ Dieu _ , I’m going to have to put up with this forever, aren’t I?”

In retaliation for his crimes against humor, Marinette rolls off and lays on her side, back to him. She crosses her arms the best she can for still being on the ground, indignant.

He cleans himself as quickly as he can so that he can wedge one of his arms under her and around her waist. The protests are weak as Adrien pulls her to his chest. There’s no controlling the way he buries his nose in her dark hair.

“I’d like that,” he says, “I don’t have great luck, but I’d be lucky to have you forever.”

Marinette gives a happy hum, nodding. Her hair tickles his nose, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more content.

They lay there, on their sides, sharing each other’s warmth for a long while. Idle thoughts float across his mind, mostly overshadowed by Marinette’s mere presence, but eventually, one sticks. He lets out a loud snort.

“You know what I just realized, Marinette?”

“What?”

“We’re going to have to find some way to wash this sheet.”

Her frustrated groan reverberates against his chest as she covers her eyes and curls up into a ball. Up into the summer night, Adrien casts his laughter.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come kinkshame me at brettanomycroft.tumblr.com


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